I live in one of the largest counties (geographically) in California that also happens to be one of the smallest--if not THE smallest--population-wise. I think there's about 14,000 people in the county. Most of the county is wilderness, and hardly any of it is flat--mountains take up most of the space. The population sign at the edge of my town reads 200, but it's more like 50 in the wintertime. The next town, which happens to be the largest in the county, is 45 minutes away, down an incredibly winding road. Its population is a whopping 3,500. There's exactly one store in my town--it's the all-purpose gas station, grocery, gift shop, propane place, etc., so most of us must do our shopping either at the town 45 minutes away, but usually big shopping trips are done at the town that's one and a half hours away. There aren't any cell phone towers, and hence, no cell phones.
It is a lonely life up here; most of the people in town are retired, and my husband and I have no friends our age up here. Days go by where I don't speak to anyone but my husband and 6 month old baby, not because I don't go out, but because when I do go out, I don't happen to see anyone else outside. I've never been so isolated. In fact, I lived in a high rise apartment building in Chicago before moving here. I miss feeling like there's lots of people busy living around me. I miss seeing people go off to work in the morning. I miss being able to go places--having a baby doesn't tie me down so much as not having any place to go does!
It is a lonely life but in many ways it is a good life. It is not a life that I expect to have for much longer; my husband and I plan to move in the near future. It is a good life because, up here, for the first time, I have truly begun to love simplicity. I have learned to savor the pleasure of a sunny day. I have learned to work with the soil. I have learned the simple household skills that are forgotten in most of our country: how to preserve foods, how to bake bread. Outings to restaurants and movies have become special occasions to me in a way that they can't be for most people, because most people can go out to eat or to a movie whenever they want.
Emily Dickinson said, sweetest nectar requires sorest need. I'm not sure what the opposite of "jaded" is, but I guess I might say that I've become "unjaded" here. The joy of sharing a meal with friends, the joy of picking fruits from my own trees, the joy of hanging the wash out to dry in the hot sun, the joy of seeing the new fawns in springtime--these are things I would have either not noticed or not cared about five years ago. I am often lonely, but I think I'm also more alive.
I would be so interested in hearing what other rural women think and feel about their lives.
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